


Repentance

by NinjaSniperKitty



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Voice Kink, romantic smut, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24705487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaSniperKitty/pseuds/NinjaSniperKitty
Summary: Upon returning to Dragonstone after being cured of his greyscale, Jorah Mormont is determined to try and make things right with Daenerys once more. However, Daenerys does not forgive so easily, and she has her own ideas of how Jorah can atone for his actions.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	Repentance

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in my WIP folder mostly done, so I figured I would finish it up. I think I originally started writing this sometime around season 7 but before watching season 8?

Dragonstone was a lot larger than Ser Jorah could have imagined. The building had been built as a Targaryen military base, and yet it looked every bit a royal castle—sans the extravagant decorations so many rulers chose to embellish their halls with. Instead of elegant tapestries and the finest furniture that could be found in Westeros, there were finely crafted reliefs of massive dragons. Instead of the smooth painted architecture of the Red Keep, there were jagged stones and draconic gargoyles guarding the entrances. It was in every way a Targaryen stronghold: unruly and practical. 

As a boy, Jorah had heard stories about how Dragonstone had been created by ancient Valyrian magic. Jorah didn't put much faith into magic anymore, but now he was beginning to doubt himself once again; only powers of divine origin could have made such an exotic and unique structure.

Jorah puffed as he followed the twisting stone path leading up to the keep’s entrance. His age wasn't agreeing with the ridiculously long winding path the Targaryens had decided to construct. A good defense; any enemies that tried to seize the keep would already be out of breath by the time they reached the entrance. 

He wouldn't lie and say that he wasn't nervous, something Jorah would not admit to often. It had been months since he had last seen Daenerys. So much had happened during that time, and he wasn't even informed on half of it. He was used to being in the know of all of Daenerys’ plans as her personal advisor. The Imp—no,  _ Tyrion _ —had taken that title since. Now, the knight was no more than a blight, a blemish on his queen’s reputation. 

He wished he could take it back. God, how we wished he could take it all back. No amount of Lannister kidnappings and fighting for his queen’s honor would ever restore their bond back to what it had been. Daenerys could accept him again all she liked, but Jorah just knew that she would always hold a spot of mistrust in her heart for him now until the day he died. The Targaryens were renowned for their grudges, and Daenerys was no different. She was radiant and beautiful and perfect in every way, but she was not one to tolerate being slighted.

He had written Daenerys a letter ahead of time. Not the copy in which he had spilled his heart out and explained how he had failed her, how he had not been able to find a cure and had chosen to take his life instead. No, this draft was much more hopeful. It explained all that had happened much like the other letter but included his meeting with the young Tarly. He purposefully chose to exclude all the gory details: how half of his flesh had been cut off, how his body was currently covered in weeping wounds that would scar like the Seven Hells, how he had wept openly from the pain. His  _ khaleesi  _ didn’t need to hear all that. All that mattered was that he was on his way home to her, to spend the rest of his life trying to make things right with her, and that this would all hopefully be worth it in the end.

If there was one thing that Jorah Mormont was, it was persistent. He would continue to try and serve his fair-haired  _ khaleesi  _ until he drew his last breath, no matter how many times she turned him away. The remission of his greyscale had given him a new lease on life. He would serve and protect to the best of his abilities. It was his duty, the reason fate had decided to send Samwell Tarly his way. That was something that both he and Daenerys, although separated in age by decades, had in common: persistence. 

After what had felt like miles of walking, Jorah found himself at the gate of Dragonstone. There were two Unsullied manning the entrance, stoic and unmoving like the very gargoyles that lined the stronghold. He explained himself in High Valyrian about how the queen was expecting him, and the guards stepped aside to permit him entrance.

The rest of the way to the throne room was fairly obvious. There was a central path that winded around the exterior with smaller halls that branched off into other parts of the keep. The sun had just started setting below the horizon, setting the sky ablaze in shades of orange and blue. Hopefully, his journey hadn't taken too long and he would still be able to find Daenerys in the throne room. 

\-----

Jorah does manage to find Daenerys in the throne room, and just in the nick of time; she and her small—smaller than he had last remembered—council had just wrapped up discussing the duties that still had to be divvied up when Jorah pushed open the heavy doors of the entrance. In an instant, all eyes were on him. He felt meager, like an insect that had disrupted a perfectly good evening. The high court walls loomed over him, seemingly intensifying the hush that had quickly fallen over the room upon his entrance. Five pairs of eyes bore into him as a voice cut through the silence.

“Ser Jorah!” Daenerys rose from the throne at the end of the hall, hands clasped at her chest. 

Jorah felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest. Her smile always had been able to light an entire room. If he could see her smile for him like that all the time, he would gladly come down with greyscale a thousand times more. “My queen.” He knelt and lowered his gaze, not quite sure what else to do. The other advisors were in the room, and he wasn't sure exactly what his standing was. While he was certain he wasn't going to be Daenerys’ most trusted advisor anymore, what was there to do with him? Further punishment? Pretend as if nothing happened? No matter the outcome, he would face it like a man. 

“You may rise, Ser Jorah.”

He did as he was bid.

“You look well, my friend,” Tyrion, unable to hold his tongue for more than five minutes at a time, chimed in. “A lot less… rock-ish than I was imagining. A shame. I already had a fantastic nickname picked out for you: Boulder Boy.”

Jorah shot him a grin. “It's been a long time since I've been a boy, but I appreciate the compliment.” It felt good to be able to joke again. The last time he had been in any sort of good humor was when he had kidnapped the dwarf in the first place.

Daenerys gingerly walked down the stairs that lead to her throne, stopping in front of the knight. Her eyes bore into him. Whether she was assessing his condition or judging if he was trustworthy Jorah was unsure. “Come, you must be hungry after your travels. I’ll have the kitchen staff arrange an extra spot for you.”

\-----

He sat next to Tyrion at the dinner table. Missandei sat to Daenerys’ left, who was at the head of the table. Unfortunately, The Spider was there as well, soft and powdered and punchable as usual. 

“Where’s Daario?” inquired Jorah after swallowing a mouthful of chicken. To be honest, he didn't care for Daario, but it made for good conversation. 

“Daario didn't board the ship to Dragonstone with us. He's keeping the lands in Essos under control while I’m away,” said Daenerys.

“And Grey Worm?”

Daenerys shot a look at Tyrion; the rest of the dinner party dropped their gaze. 

Oh. 

“I will inform you of the months you missed later. It does not make for very good dinner conversation,” said Tyrion. There was bite behind the words.

Jorah bowed his head. “My apologies. I did not know.”

The rest of the dinner was filled with an awkward silence. Varys told a story about a merchant that had once tried to pickpocket him, only to trip over his own oversized boots. Tyrion followed up with a legend about a common thief that grew up to be a prince. Everyone laughed and nodded when appropriate out of politeness. But the mood in the room had deteriorated for the rest of the meal. 

Once everyone had finished their meals, Daenerys stood up with an air of finality; they were done. “Jorah—join me in the throne room.” It wasn't a request; the Mother of Dragons didn't make requests. It was a demand. “There are some matters we still need to address.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

\-----

The throne room was eerie when illuminated only by torchlight. The sun had long since set, casting the keep in a dark gloom that was only perpetuated by the dark stone walls. Thousands of men had been sentenced to death in this room by the Targaryens. And thousands of Targaryens killed by the troops of Westeros in battle. Daenerys had been one of the two regal Targaryens to survive the onslaught, and she looked every bit the part of royalty right now. 

Her wardrobe now consisted of dark greys and blacks in lieu of her elegant blue dresses. It made her look far more mature than her 22 years. More queenly, Jorah thought as he gazed up at her from his spot at the bottom of the stairs.

“Just because I have invited you back into my service does not mean that you are free of your past transgressions. You betrayed me and sold my secrets to the enemy, Jorah Mormont.”

“Please forgive me, Your Grace. I know what I have done is inexcusable, but I swear to dedicate the rest of my life rectifying—”

“You betrayed me and thus you must be punished.”

Jorah lowered his gaze. There was no use trying to explain his actions. She had heard it from him before, sent him away anyway. His reasoning was lost on her, and with good reason. He was a traitor. And yet his queen had been propitious enough to accept him again despite it all. Jorah would do whatever needed to be done to show his gratitude to her, no matter what the punishment may be. In comparison to the ordeal he had gone through back at the Citadel, everything else seemed like child’s play. He would accept his punishment graciously. 

“Come to me, Ser Jorah. And kneel.” With a flick of her hand, Daenerys dismissed the two Dothraki guards by her side. They bowed before leaving the throne room to one of the adjunct chambers. 

Jorah did as he was told, climbing the stairs to kneel a few feet away from the throne. 

Her voice wavered as she spoke. “I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, order you to come forward and pleasure your queen.”

Jorah started and almost choked in surprise. Surely he hadn't heard her right? He must not have heard her right. The greyscale may have had more of a toll on his mind than he had originally thought. “Excuse me, Your Grace?” He watched her face carefully this time, taking in every detail, rather than staring at the ground. 

Daenerys wouldn't look at him, glancing at something far off to her side instead. There was a pink blush rapidly spreading across her face as she spoke. “You heard me. Come forth and pleasure your queen, Ser Jorah.”

Jorah stammered. Usually precise and refined with his words, they refused to properly come out of his mouth for once. 

He stopped, sighed, and tried again. “Surely you don't mean that, Your Grace. I am old, and I pale in comparison to your radiant beauty. There are far better looking men in the keep—”

“And none of them are my bear. Must I remind you that this is a punishment? Refusing a sentence from a queen is a crime, one that can result in imprisonment and even death. Are you denying the request of your queen, Ser Jorah?”

Jorah hesitated. Would she really follow through with that threat? A couple of years in the Dragonstone prison wouldn't be that bad, especially if it saved Daenerys from regretting this later. But who was he to deny his queen anything? 

“Never,” Jorah replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. He hesitantly closed the gap between them, watching her face the whole time in case she changed her mind. Or in case this was some kind of joke to make him look like a fool. Yet her face was an iron mask, impossible to read. 

“You are… certain of this?”

“Yes.”

“And will you tell me to stop if it gets to be too much?”

For the first time since the encounter started, Daenerys fixed him with those mesmerizing violet eyes. There was warmth behind her smile, enough to melt even the coldest of hearts. That was all the encouragement Jorah needed. His fingers trembled while he undid the clasps to her boots before carefully pulling them off and kissing up her calves. 

She was a fierce and strong woman who had seen more than most in her lifetime, and yet Jorah couldn't help treating her like a porcelain doll. Daario had said something to him back in Vaes Dothrak—something along the lines of him being old and how he would never be able to  _ ride the dragon. _ That was still yet to be seen, but Jorah had confidence in his skills as a lover.

He reached up under her dress to unfasten her riding pants before shucking them and her small clothes down and off of her slender legs, kissing each newly exposed inch of her skin. 

“I don't think I've ever actually seen you flustered before, Ser Jorah,” Daenerys chuckled, a breathless quality to her voice. 

He said something in response, but it was muffled by the trails of kisses he was laying up her calves. The poor man. His face was almost beet red! Whether it was due to lust or shyness, Daenerys found it oddly endearing. Her knight was always so stoic and unmoved, save for the moments they would have together when he would grace her with a rare smile. And she could count on one hand the number of times she had actually seen him laugh during their years together. She decided that she liked this more expressive side of Jorah. 

His onslaught of kisses had now reached her thighs. Daenerys could feel herself grow wetter the closer he got to her sex, a pool of heat growing in her belly. She wanted him. She wanted him to just hurry up and pleasure her. The thought of grabbing his head and pushing Jorah where she wanted him crossed her mind, but this was their first time together; she didn't want to ruin anything between them or put pressure on her knight. With queenly patience she would wait. 

Finally,  _ finally _ he did reach her most sensitive parts. She could feel his breath, rapid and warm, tickling the sensitive skin on her inner thighs. 

“What do you want,  _ Khaleesi _ ?”

If that wasn't the question of the year. Daenerys found her mind drifting, thinking about a thousand vile things she'd like him to do to her. Perhaps later. “Continue.”

Jorah nipped teasingly at her inner thigh. “I want to hear it from you.”

Curse this stubborn man! “I want you to make me feel good! Pleasure me with your mouth!”

She could feel him smile against her skin. “As my queen demands.”

And with that, Jorah was ( _ finally _ !) upon her, laying more kisses across her hips before settling on her womanhood. Rough fingers spread her petals apart, and he went to work. Daenerys felt her eyes flutter shut at the hot wetness that was teasing her nub. Unlike everything else Jorah did with her, his ministrations were rough and unrefined. A small gasp accidentally escaped her pink lips as Jorah dipped his tongue inside of her. Daenerys reached down to tangle her fingers in his dark blonde hair, the other hand reflexively clawing at the arm of the throne. 

Jorah hummed in pleasure. “You are so beautiful,  _ Khaleesi, _ so perfect…”

Daenerys could feel the tension building in her core. At this rate, she wouldn't last much longer, but she also didn't want it to end. “W-Will you talk to me more, Jorah?”

“About what?”

Daenerys felt deprived the instant Jorah stopped mouthing her essence, only to have his thumb replace his tongue on her nub moments later. An acceptable replacement, she thought as a wave of pleasure coursed through her body. 

“I don't care,” Daenerys panted. “Compliment me. Tell me how long you've been wanting to fuck me. Tell me of the vulgar things you want to do to me.” At this point, she didn't care if he just talked about the weather. As long as he kept talking in that deep voice... 

Jorah hesitated. “That doesn't seem appropriate, My—”

“Jorah!”

While the knight was confident in his abilities as a lover, he had never been exceptionally skilled at bedroom talk. Especially to his queen! If it weren't for the lust and adrenaline currently flowing through his veins, he would have died at just the thought of talking to Daenerys about his depraved thoughts. 

He swallowed heavily. “I've wanted this since I first watched you walk out of that funeral pyre unscathed. You grow more beautiful by the day…” The Targaryen’s grip on his hair tightened, encouraging him on. “I want to make love to you. Fuck you until you're screaming my name.” The words felt foreign on his tongue as he spoke. “I want to service you in any way I can,  _ Khaleesi.  _ I want to make you feel good. _ ” _

Daenerys was only mildly aware of the terrible whimpering noises she was making now. There was a tight coil of heat in her stomach. God, she was so close… Looking down into Jorah’s blue eyes was a mistake. There was so much love for her in them. Love that she could never properly return, and yet...

“Are you close, Daenerys?”

She nodded her head fervently as she felt a thick finger find its way into her slick insides, followed by another, pumping in and out of her. “Ah… Jorah, I'm gonna—” 

“Finish for me,  _ Khaleesi.” _

A curl of his fingers was enough to send waves of pleasure wracking through her small body as her orgasm finally took her. She instinctively clasped her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming at the heat that was surging from between her legs. 

Jorah was there for her in an instant during her aftershocks, hushing her and telling her how beautiful she was. Once the waves of pleasure had subsided, Daenerys patted the throne next to her, wordlessly inviting Jorah to join her. She didn't know what she was expecting to happen, what with her still being half-splayed over the seat, but she wasn't expecting Jorah to sweep her up into his arms. He took her previous spot, cradling Daenerys across his lap. 

She glanced up at him, a content smile on her face, and grabbed the hand not supporting her back. “You're very good at that, you know.”

Jorah chuckled and pulled her closer to his body. “I consider that quite the compliment.” He pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “I would be, ah, more than happy to endure any further punishments you deem necessary.”

Daenerys laced her fingers with Jorah’s and pressed her head to his chest, closing her eyes. “Mm, I might just have to take you up on that someday.”


End file.
